


Do I really have to wear this blasted thing?

by IrkenCupcakes13



Series: Andraste's Herald(s) [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, cause he's a giant lovely dork whom i love to bits, cullen makes it better, jim has horrid timing, marethra wears a dress to halamshiral and is not pleased, who invited him?, why is he even at halamshiral??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 16:06:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6057616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrkenCupcakes13/pseuds/IrkenCupcakes13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's time to go to Halamshiral and Marethra honestly hates it. First she had to attend a party and schmoose all the racist nobles. Second, she had to wear a damned dress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do I really have to wear this blasted thing?

“Do I really have to wear this blasted thing?” Marethra complained, grabbing a handful of the frilly dress and tossing it out in front of her, the action pulled the almost too tight corset down slightly.

“Yes, Inquisitor. You must. You can’t just walk into an extravagant party such as this in your armor.” Josephine chided as she pulled the elf’s corset back up.

“Why not?” The inquisitor groaned childishly, itching her head where one of the pins was annoyingly rubbing against it.

“You know exactly why not. Besides, you look marvelous.” Josephine finished fixing the inquisitor’s corset, and after feeling something cold and hard under her arm, she tugged on it and frowned.

“Oh for the Creators sake, Josephine. Please let me have this one thing.” Marethra swatted Josephine’s hand away from the small dagger hidden inside her corset and tucked the weapon back into its place.

“Fine, but I hope you won’t have to use it.” The ambassador sighed as she turned towards the door to leave.

“Come on, Inquisitor. The Winter Palace awaits.” Josephine gestured widely towards the door, a slight bow accompanied her action.

\--

She really wanted to leave.

She knew nobody here except her advisors and accompanying party. Sure, she would talk to Dorian or Sera about the ridiculous outfits the nobles sported or sit quietly with Blackwall for a while but apparently she’s the only one that can save the empress. All in a frilly annoying dress.

She kept stepping on the edge and having fixing her corset, and don’t get her started on the lack of her mage robes. She felt so bare without the protection of armor. She was also very jumpy for the same reason. With nothing but her hidden dagger and raw magic, unfocused without her staff, to save her if she gets attacked, she just glares at anyone who looks at her and stays away from the larger crowds.

Marethra had decided to take a break on an empty balcony. She had just sat down and gotten comfortable when she heard footsteps getting closer. She groaned and leaned back against the wall, the action knocking a pin out of her hair that had let go a small section of hair that fell onto her face.

“Inquisitor? Are you alright?” A smooth, familiar voice came from somewhere in front of her. She looked in the direction of the voice and stood quickly, smoothing down her dress and tucking the hair behind her ear.

“Cullen! Hello! What would you, what can _I_ , I mean… hi.” Marethra’s dark skin blushed a deep red in embarrassment at her fumbling for words.

Cullen chuckled lightly, the noise settling her nerves slightly. “I just wanted to check on you, you seemed rather worn out last time I got a glance at you.”

Marethra sighed and sat back down, her hair falling in her face again as she hung her head. “I hate big parties.” She sighed, looking up at Cullen again.

“Not a big fan myself.” Cullen replied as he sat down next to her. “I’ve been surrounded by people all day asking to marry me. It took an ‘Inquisition emergency’ for them to let me go.”

“Oh Creators, you have no idea how many nobles have told me they have a thing for ‘the knife-ears’, or the ‘rabbit look’. Ooh, or that I’m _especially pretty for an elf_.” She had used a purposefully bad Orlesian accent for the last bit, scoffing in disdain afterwards.

“I’m sorry you have to listen to that drivel.” Cullen wrapped an arm comfortingly around Marethra’s shoulders. The Inquisitor leaned into Cullen, letting out another sigh as she nuzzled into his chest.

“It’s fine. I’m used to it by now.”

Cullen pulled her closer, planting a kiss on her head.

They stayed silently watching the stars, Marethra occasionally messing with her dress.

“I hate this thing. How am I supposed to fight an assassin in a dress?” Marethra broke the silence after a moment, standing up and tossing her dress grumpily with one hand.

“I tried getting you some more formal looking armor but Josephine would not budge on the dress.” Cullen smiled as he stood, moving to stand in front of Marethra. “But Maker, do you look beautiful in it.”

He lightly stroked her cheek with his fingers, admiring the small almost unnoticeable twitch of her ear as she blushed. Marethra leaned into the touch, smiling at the man in front of her. Cullen slowly started leaning towards her, and after she caught on, she started doing the same.

“Inquisitor? Are you out h- Oh…”

 **“** Ma ghilana mir din'an!” Marethra yelled, turning towards the Inquisition scout that had interrupted them.

“I-I’m sorry ma’am. I didn’t mean to… um, Leliana wished to see you in the Vestibule.” The scout said quickly before running in the other direction.

“Duty appears to be calling me.” Marethra sighed, annoyed that she had to leave Cullen.

“It never stopped.” Cullen placed a gentle, chaste kiss onto her lips. “Now, hurry. You shouldn’t leave Sister Nightingale waiting.”

“Come back here after tonight’s ‘events’ are over with. Maybe I could convince you to grace me with a dance.” Marethra smirked at him as she walked away, loving the blush that spread across his skin.

**Author's Note:**

> Ma ghilana mir din'an means literally, guide me into death. A.K.A., kill me. 
> 
> I welcome any criticism so long as it is constructive! Thank you for reading!
> 
> A kudos would mean a lot too, if you liked the fic!


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